Veritas, a Black and Blue story
by Orion Lyonesse
Summary: Could the dark, silent man in the cell really be Avon, after all this time? And what will Vila do when he finds out? Vila/Tarrant, Vila/Avon. Hurt/comfort, of course. We can never leave these characters alone, can we?
1. Chapter 1

A/N This is a story I wrote a long time ago. I have updated it and, I hope, improved it. Please let me know what you think of it.

***

"It has to be him!" Dayna's dark face was alight with excitement. Her lithe, slender form fairly danced beside Soolin, while she kept one dark eye on the dark silent man sitting immobile in the holding cell, his gaunt face framed on their view screen.

Soolin, blond hair pulled back from her Nordic fair face, wasn't nearly as pleased by the image on the monitor.

Dayna continued, undeterred. "Everything fits except…" she sucked in her lower lip, a frown wrinkling her brow, "it doesn't seem like him, at least what I remember. It has been several years since he disappeared on Gauda Prime."

"But this load of Federation prisoners came from the other end of the galaxy," Soolin protested. "How could he have gotten so far away?"

Soolin stopped with a sharp intake of breath as a horrible thought struck her. "What're we going to tell Vila? He's been mourning Avon for three years, thinking him dead, and now he shows up again, with no memory of who he is?" She stepped back from the viewing screen. Her usual self-confidence seemed to have deserted her. In an unusually indecisive voice, she asked her friend and crewmate, "Maybe we shouldn't tell him? Or just let this man go his way?"

"Let's ask Tarrant! As Vila's deputy and…lover, he should at least be in on the problem."

Soolin looked at her with a touch of hope sparking in her summer blue eyes. She thought a moment, then nodded.

"Yes, he should. Oh, yes, he surely should. It'll affect him almost as much as Vila, when you think of it." Without shutting down the monitor, the two gunfighters left the detention area. At the last moment, Dayna turned for one last look at the dark silent man seated in the corner, blankly staring, somehow alone even in that crowded cell full newly-freed prisoners.

***

"No! I forbid it!" Tarrant shouted at Dayna and Soolin, fists planted solidly on top his littered desk. Around them the bare grey walls of his office reverberated. Dayna thought she saw the framed picture of Tarrant, Vila and Blake on the wall bounce. It was lucky for them all that the door had been closed or Tarrant's temper tantrum would have been heard by the whole office complex.

Tarrant visibly reined in his temper and took a deep, calming breath. The flush in his long face lightened a shade or two. Raising his hands, palms out, he fended the two women and his own wrath off, settling back into his desk chair.

His two crewmates let some of the tension bleed off them, dialing down their natural battle-ready stances into something only a little more relaxed. Dayna, the dark half of the pair, perched herself on the edge of one of the visitor's chairs. Soolin wasn't feeling that casual, so she lit lightly on the arm of the opposite chair.

Somewhat quieter, Tarrant continued, trying his best to sound official, in charge, reasonable. Not that he really felt that way.

Everything had been going his way: the revolutions was won, Blake was the acknowledged victor and head of the new government. Vila was his right-hand man, and he, Tarrant, head of the fleet, had Vila finally as his lover. It had taken months to get through Vila's grief and guilt over Avon, months when Tarrant had pursued Vila with a single-mindedness that verged on stalking. He'd been solicitous. He'd listened to Vila's drunken rambles in the night when he couldn't sleep. He'd helped Dayna and Soolin support their crewmate and former Delta thief into his new role of commanding Alpha, second-in-command of the new base. He'd been there whenever Vila needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to reminisce with or a person who saw HIM, not an official, not a rebel, not an Alpha.

And Tarrant had chiseled away at Vila's grief one minute after another, until the night Vila had fallen asleep, exhausted and more than a little drunk, in his arms. When they awoke the morning afterward, neither had said anything. They'd just moved on as if they'd meant to move in together. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if they'd always been lovers.

And everyone had accepted it as the natural course of things, even Dayna and Soolin, who were now trying to bring Tarrant's world down about his ears.

"Vila doesn't need this to worry him now. He thinks Avon is dead. He's finally been able to accept it." _And move one to me_. Both women heard the unspoken thought. Even while Vila had mourned his lover's death, they'd watched Tarrant move in, making himself indispensable to the grieving man who was, even then, interface with the public.

Tarrant ran a hand through his too-long curls. He was reminded that in the press of the final battles and the cleanup operations after that he'd let it get too long. He'd have to get it cut soon. _Vila doesn't like it this long._

Bringing himself back to the issue at hand, he tilted his head, sliding a mask of rationality he didn't feel across his face.

"Look, maybe it isn't even him. Let me go see this man, just to be sure, before we bother Vila. He's Blake's deputy. He's too important and busy to check out every freed prisoner."

"Be fair, Tarrant" Dayna protested, crossing her arms tightly and glowering. She'd always had a soft spot of the Delta thief and felt protective now of the Alpha commander he'd come to be. "He would if he could and you know it. He cares what happens to them, just like Blake and Avalon do."

Soolin stepped in before Tarrant could more than open his mouth. "Still, it couldn't hurt for you to check this person out first. You'd better be quick about it, though. That batch is due for relocation tomorrow. If he goes with them, who knows when we'd be able to find him again."

The women left, fixed upon a course of action that Tarrant had no plan on pursuing. He'd resolved to ignore the problem and let it go away. Let the mystery of whether or not it was Avon to just…go away. Disappear. Vanish.

Because if it was Avon, Tarrant knew Vila would drop everything-the revolution, clean up, Blake, even…himself-to help Avon.

_I don't want to lose him. I can't lose him. He's mine now! Avon can't have him back, not now, not when things are finally going right for us._ _I have everything I've ever wanted-a fleet of ships and…Vila to share my bed and my life with._ He shook his head, brown curls lashing his face. _It just isn't fair!_

***

In the end, Tarrant's curiosity got the better of him. He had to know for sure whether it just the girls' imagination or had Avon, after all this time, really come back from the grave.

Lurking was hard for someone of his height and notoriety, but he was managing to remain fairly inconspicuous. The group of prisoners that Dayna had said Avon was in were preparing for embarkation to an outer worlds' shuttle. He spotted the man at once, both because he was silent and unmoving while everyone else was in motion and because it was Avon. He was certain.

Well, the face and body weren't quite what he remembered, but there was something about the man that fairly scream AVON to his former pilot.

At that moment when he'd decided to walk away, leaving Avon to disappear again, Tarrant's attention was caught by a knot of VIPs entering the holding area. With a groan, he recognized Vila at their head. Why now? Was the whole universe conspiring against him now?

Making a split-second decision, he slipped from his vantage point, making his way toward the group and to Vila's side.

"This group of former Federation prisoners," Vila lectured, his polished Alpha speaking voice easily carrying throughout the holding area, "were freed in the last days of the revolution. From here, they will either be sent back to their home worlds, if they still exist, or to resettlement planets in the outer worlds."

As his sweeping, graceful gesture directed the groups gaze around the room, the dark man in the corner levitated from his seat in apparent shock, staring directly at Vila. The two men locked eyes and froze. Tarrant, coming up beside Vila, touched his arm, trying to divert his attention. Vila spoke quietly to Tarrant, not taking his eyes off the silent, staring man. "Is it…Could that really be Avon?" he asked in an anguished voice. "Why doesn't he…say something? He just keeps staring at me."

"He doesn't know who he is, let alone who you are," Tarrant replied quietly. "I think hearing your voice sparked something in him, though. Just what, I don't know."

Absently shrugging free of Tarrant's restraining hold, Vila made his way toward the man. The man watched, silent and patient, like a man in an open field watching a tornado bear down upon him. There was nothing he could do and he was resigned to the destruction about to happen.

"Do I know you, sir?" asked the stranger softly.

Vila drank in that beloved voice. Then the sense of the words hit him like a barrage of phaser fire. His hands fell to his sides as he turned stricken eyes to Tarrant, standing silent at his side.

In Tarrant's eyes, he saw a reflection of himself, Vila Restal, right hand of the great Roj Blake, triumphant leader of the rebellion that had unseated Servalan and toppled the entire Federation. Vila Restal, come finally to his rightful place, his Alpha status revealed and acknowledged by all. Commander of this base, responsible for all its personnel and fleet.

Vila Restal, once Delta-class thief and this man's lover.

He fought to remain calm, aware of the visiting dignitaries, aware of Tarrant at his elbow. Licking his dry lips, he answered. "Perhaps we have met. I'm Vila Restal, commander of this base. May I ask your name?"

"They call me Veritas. It's a word for truth in some ancient language. It…was meant as a joke, but somehow it stuck. They…said if I have no past, I have to tell the truth." He shrugged, an oddly elegant gesture. "It's as good a name as any other, I guess." He spoke calmly, soberly, with just a hint of self-deprecating humor.

"Where are you from, Veritas?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Why were you in the Federation's prison?"

"I assume I broke a law, but I don't know that either."

"Do you…have any skills, any abilities you can use to make a living with, now that you're free, I mean?"

That brought a brief flicker of an embarrassed smile skittering across the solemn face. "I…seem to have a knack for opening locks."

Vila blinked in surprise, then burst out laughing. "Wonderful. Of all the skills he could have, he's a lockpick!" His laughter grew a little hysterical before it stopped abruptly.

Turning to Tarrant, he instructed, "Take this man back to headquarters." He inquired with an eyebrow of the dark man if it was all right. Receiving a slight, puzzled nod, Vila continued, "Get him assigned a room, have the psychs administer aptitude tests, and get back to me with the results, as soon as possible."

"Right away, Vila," Tarrant answered, against his better judgment, trying to put a good face on this deteriorating situation. Grabbing Veritas by the arm, he tried to leave the holding area, but Veritas wasn't having any of it. Pulling away from Tarrant's hold, he stared stonily at him. Though Tarrant was taller that the man, he suddenly felt like a school boy before his master.

Slowly, one perfect word at a time, Veritas cut Tarrant down.

"I am perfectly capable of moving about on my own, young man. There is no need to tow me along like a garbage scow!" Both Vila and Tarrant stared in amazement. For the first time, this stranger did truly sound like the Avon.

"Also," he addressed Vila now, "I'll thank you not to talk about me as though I were deaf and dumb or entirely absent." Turning back to Tarrant, he said, "Now, young man, shall we go?"

He looked expectantly at Tarrant, who shrugged and led the way. Vila stared after them long after they had disappeared.

***

"How's…Veritas doing?" Vila, leaning back against the headboard, looked anywhere but at Tarrant, whose head he held in his lap, absently running his fingers through the unruly curls. Their quarters, while the largest suite on the base, was still bare and antiseptic, the only life provided by the multi-colored quilt draping the large bed they now occupied.

Tarrant glanced up. "Why don't you ask him, Vila?"

Shocked, Vila, eyes wide, stared down at his lover. "Oh no, no, no! I could never do that!"

"Vila, you're head of this base, in Blake's absence. Surely one computer tech isn't enough to scare you?" Tarrant's voice took on a bitter quality as he continued, "Besides, I'm a bit tired of being your spy and messenger boy. You know his past. The rest of us certainly aren't going to. He'd eat us alive!" he finished, shaking his head.

"And I'm supposed to talk to him? What makes me different, huh?" Vila asked.

Tarrant sat up, the quilt falling around his waist. Taking Vila's face in both hands, he compelled the former Delta thief to turn and look at him. "Because he's your responsibility. He was your lover. You rescued him, gave him a place and a purpose. We're all loyal to you now; you're our leader. And…you're mine now." He turned away, bracing himself on one arm, face averted. His voice had gone very quiet for one as boisterous and full of life as he usually was. "I won't tell him, Vila. If I do, I'll lose you to him and I just don't think I could bear that."

Vila pulled the younger man into his arms and held him closely, trying to soothe Tarrant's fears away. But he never answered Tarrant, because he didn't know the answer himself.

***

Veritas slammed his open hand on Tarrant's desk with enough force to make him jump. Having gotten Tarrant's complete attention, he snarled, "Just who is it you think I am, anyway? I've been working with you and your computers for six months now, and still the four of you can't address me by name." His hooded dark eyes bored into Tarrant's. "I'm always catching one or another of you watching me as though I'm going to explode or grow another head or something. And there is always one of you around, except when I sleep! Even in my own room, you all have a habit of popping in!"

He ran a hand through his long dark hair in frustration. "I had more privacy as a prisoner! For gods' sakes! This has got to stop and I want answers now, Tarrant. Who am I supposed to be?"

Veritas waited, while Tarrant tried to come up with something to say, some excuse, anything to defuse this man. He opened his mouth to begin twice, then thought better of it.

Finally, he took the coward's way out. He smiled placatingly, slipping easily into efficient commander mode. "It's not my place to tell you. Vila's the only one who can and should tell you." He spread his hands and shrugged, indicating his helplessness in the matter.

Veritas snorted and turned away in disgust, crossing his arms angrily. "Vila! He's the worst of you lot. Busy as he is working for Blake and Avalon, still I keep tripping over him wherever I go!" His words slowed, like he was searching for something in the fog. "But he won't talk to me. No, he just seems to want to see me."

He stood silent for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders, dropping his arms loosely to his side. Glancing back at Tarrant, he smiled grimly, a bare showing of the teeth. "Well, if I have to beard Vila for information, so be it. Oh, and Tarrant?" Cold fingers brushed up Tarrant's spine at that tone of voice. He could almost see Avon, standing on the bridge of the Liberator, ordering them into battle and possible death, a cruel smile playing at his lips, eyes cold and deadly, relishing his absolute power over them and, possibly, the whole universe. "Tell the others to give me some breathing room, huh?" Then he was gone, leaving an alarmed Tarrant in his wake.

***

Vila always stopped by his room last thing on his evening rounds. Just a quick in and out, though, no 'chatting'. Well, if he had his way, Veritas thought, that would change tonight.

His plans made, everything prepared, he sighed, bending back over several components he was debugging at the small desk. His back to the door, he'd gotten so involved in his project that he didn't hear the knock or his door open hesitantly.

Vila paused, his hand still on the door, just staring, his eyes taking in the achingly familiar sight of Avon hunched over his work, overhead light shining on his dark hair. The lump in Vila's throat grew till it made breathing difficult. He was about to withdraw when Veritas sat up straight with a curse, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to reach the ache between his shoulder blades. Rolling his head in a vain attempt to ease the tension, he caught sight of Vila framed in the doorway.

"Oh, Vila, please come in. Sorry I didn't hear you. This project rather captured my attention." He smiled ruefully, rubbing his neck. "It seems I stayed with it too long."

Vila couldn't have resisted that opening if the base had been under attack.

"Here, let me. I'm…told I'm quite good at massaging sore muscles." He motioned the man to turn forward, then moved behind him and began massaging. The thrill of electricity he felt at touching Avon again was almost overwhelming and he barely bit back a moan of pleasure. For several minutes, he gave himself over to the sensations coursing through him.

Finally, collecting his scattered wits, he asked, almost normally, "How's that feel?"

Veritas sighed. His head had fallen forward as deft fingers eased his stiff muscles. "Marvelous. Whoever said you had good hands was purely underestimating you, Vila."

Long minutes later, Veritas came out of his daze, remembering his plot regarding Vila. Reluctantly, he pulled away from Vila's ministrations. Twisting in his chair, he caught Vila's hands, his own warm and solid. He didn't notice the faint tremor that started with that one touch and ran through Vila's entire body.

"How thoughtless of me, Vila. Would you care for a drink?"

Vila stood wide-eyed with something akin to fear swimming behind his eyes. He shook his head once, sharply. "No, no, I have to…"

Veritas rose, facing Vila, a sociable grin on his face. He laid an apparently friendly hand on his arm, keeping the man from fleeing.

"Nonsense, Vila. You don't have anywhere you need to be," Veritas reasoned. "Just stay a few minutes." He looked down, lowering his voice. "It's…been lonely here for me, coming in at the end of everything, like I did. 'Old friends' are hard to come by when you have no memory."

That got Vila's attention and pushed all the right buttons, though Veritas didn't know that. How could he refuse? This man, who looked so like his lost love, was trying to be sociable, something Avon never bothered to do. It was beneath his dignity and just not important enough for his attention.

"All right, sure. Just one glass, though. Then I must go."

The tech poured two glasses and handed Vila one. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he motioned Vila into the desk chair.

Now, for part two of his plan-getting Vila drunk and talking.

"Tell me something, Vila," he began.

"Sure, if I can."

"Why did you pull me out of the holding area instead of letting me get shipped out that day?"

Vila frantically searched for a safe reason. "Well, I guess it was your skill as a lockpick that did it."

"Huh?" That startled him. And it couldn't be true, could it? "You've never asked me to open locks around the base."

Vila flailed a moment before answering. "I…guess I have a soft spot for thieves. I was one, you know. The best, as a mater of fact." He smiled fondly, a glow of pride from long ago adding to the warmth of the alcohol he'd drunk.

Veritas' dark brows rose, mingling with the shaggy bangs sweeping across his forehead. "A thief? But…you're an Alpha. Why would you need to steal?"

"Oh, I wasn't an Alpha then," Vila said, taking a sudden interest in the tiled floor. "That is, I was pretending to be a Delta. That was when I was with Blake on the Liberator and…later on Scorpio."

The tech watched Vila, noting the hesitation, the careful way he chose his words. He was getting near to the information he wanted, but Vila was still covering something up.

"So, you were with the famous Roj Blake. I'm impressed, Vila. But, why pretend to be a Delta?" Veritas continued, barely sipping his drink.

Vila finally looked up at Veritas. He was on safe ground here. It was only the truth, after all. "Protective coloration, mostly. Alphas had to take charge, lead others, go to dangerous places. I never wanted that, well, not back then. So I got forged papers and learned to be a Delta thief, a lockpick."

"But you're the leader of this base now. What changed?"

Vila gulped his drink and held his glass out for more. This was still too close to the heart of his problems, but he had to keep skirting the real issues with this man.

"We…lost Blake after Star One and the Andromedan War. It wasn't till two years later that we found him. What was left of the Scorpio's crew joined up with him on Gauda Prime just in time for the opening push of the rebels' final assault on the Federation. We'd lost our leader, so it seemed best to help Blake. Gradually, he came to rely on me like he used to rely on…someone else. As far as my leading his base, well, it just sort of happened. I've always been good with people and this job requires extensive politics and public relations, so it was natural that I take over."

He had been studying his drink, lost in his own thoughts, in another time, putting into words all that had happened to bring him to this place, this moment. Now he looked up at Veritas, searching those beloved brown eyes for…he didn't know what he wanted to see there. The old Avon looking out? Recognition? Love?

"I hope I answered your question, whatever it was," he said, through the glow his drinking had produced. He clutched the thought in his mind that he shouldn't call this man 'Avon', but couldn't remember what else to call him. His best course of action, he decided muzzily, was to leave.

He stood, swaying slightly. "I really have to go. Tarrant will be wondering where I've gotten to. We'll talk again sometime, shall we?" Not waiting for an answer, Vila opened the door and fled, leaving a slightly bewildered Veritas staring after him.

Now that was very interesting, he thought. Why wouldn't Vila name his missing leader from Scorpio? Was it the same person that Blake used to depend on, before Vila? The question bore looking into. He vowed to do a little research on his own the next day. Maybe he'd find his answer. Maybe he'd finally find out who he was.


	2. Chapter 2

It was Soolin's turn to check on 'Veritas', but she decided to drop in on Vila first, to see how he was doing. The strain of the last six months was evident to her eye. Vila grew quieter and thinner by the day, just as Tarrant was getting strung tighter and tighter, worrying about Vila.

She was surprised to find both Dayna and Tarrant already in Vila's office.

Looking up, Vila smiled a welcome, though it was just a tiny lift of the corners of his lips, gone instantly. "Good, I was just about to send for you. Please, have a seat." He gestured to a chair but, as was her habit, she crossed to his desk and hitched a hip up on it, preferring this more ready stance in case of trouble.

"So, what's the subject of this meeting, as if I couldn't guess," she asked coolly, her head tilted, face serious, a quirk of her lips showing the humor she was viewing the moment with.

Tarrant flashed her a high voltage smile briefly. "Avon, of course," he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "What else would involve all of us?"

He doesn't even try to conceal it, she mused, wondering what Vila made of that. She sighed to herself. Vila's habit of not noticing what made him uncomfortable was a source of much discussion between her and Dayna.

Dayna jumped in to defend Avon. "Be fair, Tarrant, he is our concern. It's because of us he's in this situation."

Tarrant turned on her, his voice loud in Vila's small, private office. The small bare room was his hideaway when all the bureaucracy and endless decisions became too much for him. His hands clenched into fists, rigidly held at his sides.

"No, it isn't! We've already helped Veritas," he accented the name intentionally, "more than even Avon would have expected! There is only so much we can do for this stranger."

"He's not a stranger to us." Vila put in sadly. "We are strangers to him, though. He told me last night he felt lonely here because everyone else had 'old friends' except him"

Tarrant went still, bending his head toward Vila, trying to catch his eyes.

"You talked to him last night? First I've heard of it. And did you two get to know each other better? Huh?" An accusing tone had eeled its way into his voice and a glower settled onto his face.

"That's not fair, Tarrant!" Dayna burst out. "What right do you have to accuse…"

Vila held up his hand and Dayna's outburst died, the young woman subsiding into her chair.

"He has every right, Dayna," Vila said calmly, "but he hasn't cause, in this case." The last he aimed directly at Tarrant, who flushed and looked down, unable to bear the look in Vila's eyes.

"So," put in Soolin, intent on keeping the peace, "besides being lonely and resenting our 'protective custody', what's new with Veritas to cause this little meeting, Vila?"

Vila was silent a moment, contemplating his next words. Finally, he raised his eyes, taking in all three of them. "This is the hardest thing I've ever had to say. I…think we should keep Veritas' true identity to ourselves…forever."

"What?" "You don't mean…" "How can you…" They were all astounded. He waved them down and silent before continuing.

"You three only knew Avon a short time. I've known him much longer and he'd changed quite a lot before you even met him. This…Veritas, even lonely and frustrated, is a much happier, more well-adjusted person than Avon ever was." He sighed heavily and the others tensed, waiting for Vila to finish. "I think we should let this new person alone so he can get on with his life…without us."

Stunned silence greeted him, the others frozen in place.

Predictably, Tarrant recovered first and rushed. This was, of course, what he'd hoped for all along. "I agree. For his own good, of course."

"Of course!" Dayna sneered sarcastically at him. "The fact that it clears the field for you has nothing to do with it, right?" Her dark eyes glared at Tarrant. It was so unfair of him to be so…possessive and vindictive and just plain childish as he had been ever since they'd discovered Avon.

Turning finally to Vila, she asked, "What do the psychs have to say about his memory returning?"

Vila let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. If they could all get beyond their own concerns and talk rationally about…Veritas, maybe things would actually come out okay. With it plain that Veritas would never become Avon, Vila had planned out a course of action that, he hoped, would be best for everyone concerned.

"According to their reports, he appears to have had a severe head injury, probably associated with physical and mental torture over a long period of time. When the torture stopped, for whatever reason, he was just left alone. Somehow, his mind rebuilt itself into another person. They don't think he will ever recover the old personality, although the possibility remains that the old Avon personality is locked somewhere inside his head."

Dayna raised her eyes to Vila and nodded, tears glittering on her lashes. Her soft voice was sad as she said, "You're right then, Vila. We have to let him go. For his own happiness. He doesn't belong to us, not this Veritas. But…will he be safe alone?"

Soolin nodded, the same worry occurring to the blond gunfighter. "That's a good question, Vila. What if someone comes after him, without us to watch his back?"

Vila shook his head. "I don't think there are many alive now that would recognize him. Since the Federation's fallen, he's no longer a wanted man. Anywhere but Earth, he's probably safe now." He sat back in his chair, weariness weighing upon his shoulders. He looked around his small circle of friends, ones who had fought at his side and survived into, he hoped, a better day, a better world. Briefly, he saw the shades of those he'd lost, gathering behind his living friends: Gan, the gentle giant; Jenna, all brittle and bright; Cally, gentle telepath and fierce freedom fighter, and, finally, the dark brooding presence of that other Avon. It seemed to him they were all nodding their approval.

"That's my plan, if none of you has a better one. It'll have to be soon, though. Blake's due back anytime now and you know what havoc that great bleeding heart of his would cause if he saw Av…" Vila tripped, his own tongue giving away his false hopes and present sorrow. He finished quietly, "Veritas." They nodded in agreement

Vila blinked several times, like a robot checking his programming, then became suddenly all business in an attempt to hide his heartache.

"Right. I'll work on finding him a place. I'll…talk to him tonight about our plan. You three," he looked meaningfully at Tarrant, "try to be more circumspect about keeping a watch on…Veritas, okay?" They nodded and left. Vila had determinedly returned his attention to his paperwork by then, so he didn't see the last look Tarrant cast him before closing the door, a look of fear and hate.

***

Soolin still felt she needed to check on Veritas. She couldn't explain why it seemed so important to find him, to confirm that he was doing okay. It was just something she needed to do.

She finally tracked him down, in an out-of-the-way computer room, his back to the door. Her first hint of trouble was the terrible tension that held him in place before the display screen. Entering silently, she peered over his shoulder to see what could possibly cause such a reaction.

Staring back at the tech from the screen was his own image. She tried to stifle her gasp, but he heard her anyway.

He whirled on Soolin, defensive posture only relaxing when he saw who she was. She took an involuntary step back before he relaxed his stance.

"Is he…Am I…Was I him?" he asked, turning his head toward Soolin, his wide, shocked eyes still locked to his own image.

Soolin edged around him to perch one-hipped on the console, folding her hands across one thigh. Feeling that one wrong word could shatter this distressed, suddenly fragile man before her to into a million pieces, she softly answered him. "Yes, once you were him. You aren't him now, though. You're nothing like him, except that you're still good with computers."

"But…that man was psychotic! The things he did…was…" His usually soft voice was full of alarm and pain and horror.

Soolin knew shock when she saw it. A small part of her mind warned her she was insane to do what she planned now. Avon, the real Avon, would have shot her for it.

Grabbing one of Veritas' shoulders, she slapped him-hard-across the face.

He blinked, one hand coming up to touch an already reddening cheek as he stared unwaveringly at Soolin.

Now that she had his complete attention, she repeated, "You…aren't…him! He died insane three years ago when he disappeared after teleporting onto Gauda Prime. He," she said with emphasis, "was never seen again by any of our people. It's probable that he was interrogated and his mind broken. We don't know for sure."

She thought she saw signs of comprehension in those dark eyes, so she went on, "You on the other hand have no past and have a stable personality. Hold to that and go forward. That," she indicated the screen with a nod of her head, "is past and dead. HE is dead. Let it go."

She waited silently for his reaction, withdrawing her hand from his arm and sitting back on the console. He dropped his eyes, seeing nothing but the inside of his own mind.

His words, when they finally came, were not spoken with anger, outrage, or even defeat, all of which she'd feared. His even, strong voice began, "You're right. I'm not him. I am Veritas, a computer tech for this base. I can build upon that." He looked up at her. "Thank you, Soolin."

His eyes had lost their wild look and his face was reset in calmer lines. The tension had bled out of his body. He seemed…if not at peace, at least on the way to peace.

"You're welcome, Veritas." She smiled. "Is…there anything more I can do or tell you to make this easier?"

"I…think I need to talk to Vila from here on, don't you?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

She sighed, nodding. "I…was just talking to him. He said he'd planned to visit you for a talk tonight." She felt she had to add, "It'll be hard on him, you know, to talk to you about…him. They were very close and he…mourned Avon's passing for a long time. Oh, he didn't let it interfere with helping Blake, but we could see it. He'd turn to share something or ask a question and you knew he'd expected to find Avon beside him, not Tarrant or one of us. He tried to hide it, but his eyes gave him away. That naked, lost look hurt us a lot, because we couldn't do anything about it. We couldn't even talk to him about Avon. That just made it worse. Tarrant…became a comfort to Vila after awhile. He managed to ease Vila's pain and grief a little."

She shook herself out of her reverie to find him still staring at her, drinking in every word about Vila and Avon. "I'd better go, Veritas." She stood, briefly touched his shoulder, and left.

Veritas remained, gazing at the screen for a long, long while.

***

Vila dithered outside Veritas' door for several long minutes, gathering his courage to even enter and face this stranger with Avon's face. Finally, he squared his shoulders, took a deep fortifying breath and knocked. When the door quickly opened, he thought, Veritas must have been waiting for me.

"Vila, please come in. Can I get you a drink?" Veritas ushered Vila into his room. He waved Vila to the desk chair, then stood uncertainly in the center of the room. He turned toward the bookshelf where the glasses and liquor was kept.

"No, thank you, Veritas. I'm onto your tricks now," he laughed nervously. "I think we'd best be sober tonight."

That stopped the tech's actions. He turned back, jamming his hands into his trouser pockets, cocking his head quizzically.

"And why would that be, Vila?"

Vila ignored the question as he again took the desk chair, perching on the edge. When Veritas sat on the bed, all attention, Vila began to talk, not meeting the man's eyes.

"This is hard for me, Veritas. The…form you wear…Avon…and I were lovers for a long time." He rushed to get the words out before he could censor them. "We were also friends and crewmates. I…watched helplessly as he went insane. He…even tried to kill me once, toward the end. When he…died on Gauda Prime, I mourned him, but…a part of my grief was knowing it was for the best that he died. Then you showed up, so sane and stable. I thought at first that there was a chance for us again. But, you aren't Avon. You're Veritas and I have no place in your life. I can't run it, either. That's what I came to tell you tonight." He paused, taking a deep breath. Now came the hard part; telling Veritas of his decision.

Vila finally had to look up, into those beloved brown eyes. Had to see Veritas' reaction when he told him he was being sent away.

"I've contacted the leader of the rebel forces in the Outer Worlds. He's agreed to give you a place with his computers. He really does need your help. If…you're agreeable, a shuttle leaves tomorrow morning on its regular supply run. You…can be on it, too."

Vila waited nervously for Veritas' reaction. He watched as one emotion chased another behind those eyes. Shock. Fear. Bewilderment. Finally, acceptance.

Slowly the dark man nodded. "Yes, I think that's for the best, Vila. I'm assuming you're trying to get my face as far from Earth as possible, correct?"

"You stand a better chance of not being identified as Avon in the Outer World, yes."

"Then it's settled?" Veritas slumped on the bed, his hands dangling loosely between his knees.

"I guess it is, yes…but I'd like…to ask a…favor, if I may?" Vila suddenly sounded so nervous, Veritas tensed with alarm.

"Certainly, Vila. After what you and the others have done for me here, how could I refuse anything in my power to give?" A quirk of his lips could almost have been a smile.

Vila raised a hand, waving it side to side. "No, please. Don't feel obligated to grant this…It's purely personal and you're free to refuse it…if it distresses you."

"Vila, out with it. Stop babbling and say it!"

Vila straightened in shock. Hearing one of Avon's favorite phrases issuing from Veritas' lips was almost his undoing. Suppressing a gasp, he plunged on before he could lose his nerve. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, his throat threatening to close completely.

"Would you…hug me? Just so I can…make believe for a moment that I have Avon in my arms? So that I can say goodbye to him?" The look of helpless longing on his face couldn't have been denied by a heart of stone.

"Of course, Vila," he said softly. He rose, walking toward Vila.

Vila stood, carefully placing his arms around Veritas. Then he laid his head on those broad shoulders. His tears would no longer be denied. After all this time of holding himself together, of denying himself, of lying to himself that he would be all right, Vila gave in.

The door of the room burst open and Tarrant flew into the room, fury plain on his youthful face.

"I knew it! I knew you'd try to take Vila away from me, you bastard. You haven't changed! You're still Avon!" he raged.

Grabbing Vila by the shoulder, he spun the smaller man off and away from Veritas with his left hand, his right hand coming up in a roundhouse punch to the startled tech's chin.

"Tarrant, no! You don't understand…" Vila began, trying to come between the two, but he was too late to stop the disaster. Veritas, caught off balance, fell, knocking his head sharply on the corner of the desk. He lay still, crumpled in a heap by the desk.

Pushing Tarrant aside, Vila knelt, checking for a pulse. Finding one, he yelled at Tarrant. "Get a medic, man! I'm afraid he's badly hurt! Move!"

When Veritas was finally borne from the room, Vila followed the stretcher, holding his hand. Tarrant, left alone and unwanted, hung back, ashamed and fearful.

***

Vila paced about the waiting room until the doctor came out.

"How is he, Dr. Sullivan?"

"I won't know for sure until he regains consciousness. Right now, I'm only sure he has a concussion, not how it will affect him or his memory." Seeing the desperation and frustration in Vila's face, he added kindly, "If you want to, you can sit with him until he wakens."

"Oh, yes, I'd like that very much." Relief at having something to do besides pace the length of the impersonal waiting room flooded through Vila.

Entering the small sterile room, Vila found Veritas lying pale and still among banks of monitoring equipment. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of black hair from his forehead. Pulling up a chair, he fell into it, taking one cool hand in his own.

"Oh, Avon, things are in such a snarl! All I wanted was to say goodbye to you, and look what happened. If anything's wrong with you, I'll never forgive myself." He leaned his forehead on the bed. The stark, starched sheets absorbed his silent tears. Eventually, he lapsed into an exhausted sleep, still clasping Avon's long-fingered, elegant hand.

Tarrant, peeking in some minutes later, took in the tableaux and felt red rage flare within himself. In his mind, jealousy and fear of losing Vila circled, stoking the flames that ate away at his soul.

Pulling silently out of the room, he almost ran into Soolin, coming to check on Vila and Veritas. She read it all in Tarrant's eyes and stepped back before the heat of that blaze. Taking little notice of her, he brushed past.

She knew what she had to do. She had to stand guard over the two silent men in the hospital room, lest this raging inferno of a man consume them both. Withdrawing to an out-of-the-way observation point, she settled in to watch.

***

Vila awoke when the hand he was holding spasmed, almost wrenching it from his own hands. Starting up, he peered blurrily at Veritas' face. What he met there froze the blood in his veins.

Avon stared out of those eyes.

"Vila," came the hoarse panicked whisper, "where are we? Is this a prison too? There've been so many prisons, so much pain. Please, no more, Vila." He struggled to get up, to leave the bed, to escape. Vila tried to hold him down, but that only made the man more frantic.

"Doctor! Orderlies! Get in here!" he yelled, as Avon, possessed of frantic strength, fought Vila, desperate to avoid more torture.

Two burly orderlies responded to Vila's shouts, butt even their combined strength was just barely sufficient to restrain the crazed man. When they began putting restraints on Avon, Vila protested.

"Is that really necessary? He hates that!"

"Sorry, sir, but he could hurt you and himself if we don't."

Vila backed away as they finished with the straps. He looked helplessly into Avon's burning black eyes.

"It'll be all right, Avon, really," he pleaded, though he didn't seem to be getting through. "Please stop fighting them," he pleaded. Vila knew even as he spoke that the man behind the eyes was beyond his words. The man he'd loved and followed through the worst the Federation could throw at them, that man was mad.

The orderlies departed, promising to bring the doctor as soon as they could find him. Vila was left alone Avon.

For heartbreaking moments, the two stared at each other, searching for…sanity? Meaning? Love?

"Vila, why are you doing this to me?" Avon shouted. "I trusted you. Why are you helping the Federation torture me? Please, Vila, let me up! I've had more torture than I can stand," he cried, pleading with hot eyes that burned into Vila's very soul. "No more, Vila, no more, please." His voice sank to a whisper, as his eyes closed momentarily. Vila thought maybe he'd drifted off to sleep, but just as he moved to the bedside to sit down, Avon's eyes snapped open and a look of cunning came into them.

"Vila, do you still love me?" he purred, with that velvet voice that could charm angels. "I can see you do. Then please, for our love, let me go."

Those words, so soft, so reasonable, so full of torment, broke Vila. He could not longer bear seeing Avon so distressed.

Hearing the door behind him opening, he dismissed it as the doctor coming to check on his patient. He didn't bother to turn around, his focus solely on what his lover had become, a broken man.

"I'll take care of you, Avon, you know I will. I always have." Vila was talking to himself as much as to Avon now. "I'll have to leave Blake and the revolution, but it's the only thing I can do. You need me and I can't turn my back on you now."

Tarrant's voice came strongly from behind Vila. "He doesn't need you, Vila. The revolution and I need you. He's been dead for three years now. He's not worth your giving up everything for." The rage in his voice flamed against Vila, igniting a fear of Tarrant he'd never known. He straightened from the bedside and whirled.

And saw the weapon in Tarrant's hands.

"No, Tarrant! You can't…"

He was too late. Tarrant's finger tightened, the blast reaching out with lethal power for the silent man strapped to the bed.

"NO!" cried Vila, lunging toward the bed. He clasped Avon's body in his arms, crying, "Tarrant, no, oh, no."

Neither man saw Soolin enter the room. Taking in the dead Avon and Tarrant aiming his blaster at Vila, she drew her own weapon and shot Tarrant. The big man toppled, falling bonelessly at Vila's feet, dead before he hit the floor.

Vila shrieked, "Nooooo!"

"He'd already shot Avon and was aiming at you next," she protested. "He went crazy, fearing he'd lose you."

"Oh, Soolin, no, that wasn't it all!" Vila moaned, dropping to the floor next to Tarrant. Tenderly, he cradled Tarrant's head in his lap, gently closing the staring eyes and smoothing the unruly curls. "He only finished what the Federation started three years ago. Avon was already dead, don't you see? And now Tarrant has paid for my indecision. Oh, Tarrant, I'm sorry, so sorry." His tears fell unheeded into his lover's brown hair.

***

Veritas had been buried quietly, with only the remaining three who'd known him to see him off.

Tarrant, on the other hand, as commander of the fleet, rated a well-attended memorial. The general populace wondered why Vila, as base commander and, some knew, Tarrant's lover, didn't speak at the memorial service. He stood silent, eyes downcast. Among so many, Vila was alone.

As Vila, flanked by Dayna and Soolin, was leaving the empty chapel, the last of the mourners, he turned to the girls, stopping them just inside the carved double doors. "I…I'm leaving the base. I…can't stand to be here and to remember…" His voice trailed off. He didn't have the energy to explain, even to these two.

"No, Vila," Dayna protested, placing a hand on his arm. "They wouldn't want you to quit like this."

"Let him alone, Dayna," Soolin advised, understanding more of Vila's torment than the younger woman.

"But…he can't go. We need him here!"

"And I need him here, too." The familiar voice boomed from the doorway as Blake strode into the chapel. Approaching the trio, he put his arms around Vila, fairly smothering the smaller man to his chest. "Right now, I need you more than ever, here, by my side." He thrust Vila away from him but held onto his shoulders.

"Vila, I need you. You've grown since we lost Avon, into the man you should have been all along. Don't throw all that away now. Neither of them would want you to just curl up and die. They'd want you to go on, to live, wouldn't they?" Blake waited for Vila's reaction, his ego knowing Vila could not refuse him, but still fearing that losing both the man's lovers would break him.

Many emotions washed across Vila's face: fear, grief, longing for what he'd lost, despair, and, gradually, a small brightening of hope for the future.

He managed a small, watery smile. "You're right, Blake. I can't quit, not now that the revolution they fought for is succeeding. I'll stay, Blake," he promised. Lowering his voice, perhaps speaking to himself, he went on, "I'll always remember them. Always."

Vila threw back his shoulders, pulling a hard-won mask of authority over his face. Turning, he reached out for the women's hands and led them from of the chapel.

Blake stood silent, watching them go, watching the last three of the Scorpio's crew. Watching the timid Delta thief he'd first met in a prison cell, now grown into an Alpha commander.

Watching a heartbroken man pick up the pieces of his life and go on.


End file.
